


Heather and Goldenrod

by thegreatandpowerfultoaster



Series: Short AU fics [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast), The Adventure Zone: Amnesty (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Florist AU, Heist, M/M, mortician au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 09:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18775186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatandpowerfultoaster/pseuds/thegreatandpowerfultoaster
Summary: Thankfully, although Duck Newton looks dead on his feet this lovely spring morning, Ned's middle name is Careful, and he manages to stop at least three vase-breaking related incidents.(In which Ned's a florist and Boyd's a mortician. Or maybe they're both just BIG LIARS.)





	Heather and Goldenrod

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FaiaHae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaiaHae/gifts).



> It turned,,,,,into a heist fic. 10 points to everyone who names an obscure reference I made in this + meaning of my cryptic flower title

"Okay," says Aubrey, one of his new co-workers, squinting at a bouquet of flowers he's just set in a vase. "So are you like...colorblind, or?"

Ned Chicane is not, in fact colorblind. He thinks these particular flowers go very nicely together, thank you very much, and he brushes over them with one hand to make them a little fluffier looking. 

Of course, he is not currently going by Ned Chicane ("Perseus Shale...Just Percy to my friends, of course.")

"I have no clue what you mean, Friend Aubrey. These look lovely together."

She throws her hands up in the air. He supposes that he can't blame her. Aubrey has been so patient for the last month, and although he likes this particular bouquet, he is still new at this and things don't always go especially well. "Percy, it's literally all yellow! We're supposed to have variety."

Now it's his turn to throw his hands up and look at her. "Of course, there's variety! Can't you see? There," he can't even remember what that particular flower is called. "Is a lovely canary color, and that sunflower is a nice dandelion, and that is a," He's running out of shares of yellow that sound like they might be the actual color of the flower. "Saffron. Really, dear Aubrey, who was supposed to be the flower expert here?"

She frowns and runs back to her own arrangement, but doesn't argue with that. "Okay, but if Dani asks who made that one, it was you."

"It certainly was!" 

This time, at least he'll own up to it. 

Counting down, he's got two, maybe three more weeks of this and then he can skip town, pockets full and ready to be someone else again.

In the mean time, though he really does like putting flowers together like this. Was he to rethink his choice in career, this would be a nice change.

Dani comes in a few minutes later and stares at Ned's bouquet but actually doesn't argue. She does fuss over Aubrey's and how pretty it is, however. If Perseus Shale was not such a polite man he might be terribly disgusted. 

Ned Chicane, however was a ridiculous romantic at heart and smiled whenever he saw how happy those two made each other.

 

Damian Alenko went to school for mortuary science...coincidentally, so did Boyd Mosche, not that he ever finished school. 

Either way, it makes it easy enough to pretend he knows what he's doing when he waltzes in and pretends to have been sent over to be in charge of funeral prep for this one, special request from her family. 

The lengths he goes to for money-

Barclay, the usual coordinator of this sort of thing as far as Boyd can tell us happy to give it up. Well, maybe not happy, per say but Boyd can tell he's good with staying behind the scenes with this one.

Makes sense...this woman is a well known one, with a big, important, fussy family. 

It is really too bad that he's not here to do a good job or even impress some people long enough to slip away with some of the valuables they're stupid enough to keep on their person. Or anywhere were he could reach, either.

And the other regular, Stern is too busy, hunched over at least three spreadsheets to notice if he doesn't look anything like a mortician or even anyone a respectable family would hire. 

 

Everything goes exactly according to plan...Ned offers to deliver the flowers to the funeral, which he's done a few times before now. He spins a grand story about the beautiful architecture of the funeral home and maybe something about family born in this town and buried here. 

He can't remember, but my was it evocative and probably convincing, since they let him go on with it (along with one Duck Newton), packing up the flower arrangements in the car early Saturday morning. 

Thankfully, although Duck Newton looks dead on his feet this lovely spring morning, Ned's middle name is Careful, and he manages to stop at least three vase-breaking related incidents that would have been a delay his plans didn't need.

He's whistling while driving, whistling while bringing cases and wreaths of white and yellow and orange flowers through the door, pausing only to tell the man at the front desk they were going in there to set the flowers up. 

 

There's a man in there. Tall....taller than he is, at least. Ned isn't very tall, but he's still pretty sure this guy is taller than average. 

And muscular...if Ned was a suspicious person he might say far, far too muscular to work at a funeral home, but he wasn't so his thoughts mostly consisted of flowery (haha) prose and an equally ridiculous spiel about how nice it would probably be to have those well-toned arms around him.

Nope. He quickly cuts off that particular train of thought, because he is here for yet another get rich quick scheme and he will not let the hopeless romantic part of him mess up yet another heist. 

And if this man is in here, how is he supposed to pull of such a risky job as stealing priceless jewelry from a corpse? 

But then Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome has to look up, with eyes he's certain he could wax poetic about for days and Ned is shot-

Not literally of course, (he's been shot before) but mentally? Absolutely shot. He'd planned three quick escapes out of the building before now (four if it came to that) but he can't for the life of him remember any of them while looking into those eyes.

"You're the florist," he says, in the most fake British accent Ned's ever had the displeasure of hearing. It sounds like silk would, or maybe velvet. Something soft, something luxurious. 

He barely remembers to nod. "Certainly am, my good man. But I'm afraid I don't know who you are, Mister..."

"Damian Alenko" He says, pushing off a table and getting up close to one of the vases Ned has just sat down. And closer to Ned. "Funeral director. And you?"

Damnit, along with his exit routes this man has also managed to take any memory of his current alias with him. He thought he was just getting older, not careless. He'll have to come up with something on the fly, then.

So he puts on a charming smile and comes up with something in the fly. "Arthur Rose," he says and sticks out his hand. Damian doesn't take it, but he leans back a little on his heels and starts laughing. Ned realizes his mistake too late. "Ah, yes. I've heard that one before."

"I'm sure you have, but you also could have chosen any other career." 

He just rolls his eyes and walks across to where the closed coffin sits and sets a wreath on it, making a show of adjusting it. Damian offers him a small wave and leaves, probably into the lobby. "Good meeting you," he says without turning around.

Thank goodness, if he was around any longer Ned might've forgotten something else vital to this heist.

He lifts the coffin lid up and try not to think a whole lot about what an awful person he probably is. He's never cared a lot before, but this seems different somehow. He tries to tell himself that this isn't a trinket, like some of the other things. 

This is to get him out of this podunk town and off to somewhere better, so he won't have to ever look back again.

Besides, she's never going to use it, and what sort of rich asshole gets buried with that much in jewelry? 

The ring is....

Gone.

It's...gone? 

That can't be right. He had it on very good authority that she'd wanted to be buried with it. In the legal sense, where yeah, maybe some relative could have asked for it, but this woman had been respected, and so he really didn't think-

Ned glances back towards the door. He knows exactly who took that ring. Call it luck, call it intuition, call it a good roll plus sharp, it didn't matter. He definitely should've been suspicious earlier.

He races towards the door before remembering that he doesn't run for a very good reason and switches to a very angry powerwalk. Damian is already out the door but if he picks up his powerwalk just a little he might be able to catch up.a

So he does.

Damian seems...Not so all surprised to see him trailing behind him. They both step behind the florists van. "So I'd suspect you have questions?"

"Not really. You stole that diamond ring, I want it, neither of us are what it who we say we are. What can I say to get you to either out it back or split it. I can get you a fence that will get us a fair price."

"Us, hmm? I suppose we are at a bit of an impasse. I could drop the ring and run, they couldn't get fingerprints. Haven't touched it, you know. But I'd guess you'd be ready and willing to give the police a pretty good description of me."

"I certainly would." Hot or not, Ned would rather be a rat than cover for this guy, whoever he was really. The fact that he was trying to steal the ring too was pretty trivial. "So I'll give you my ultimatum again. You use my fence and give me a good portion of the profits, or you put it back, and we never saw each other."

The man seems to consider this for a moment, and Ned has the pleasure of seeing his expression to go deeply contemplative to amused. "Yeah. Yeah, alright. I'll take your fence, as long as I'm getting a good price. Sixty-Fourty a good split?"

Better than hundred-zero, he supposed. "Sure. We can take the van, ditch it before they know it's gone. You gonna give me something to call you or should I just keep calling you Damian?"

He pulls open the drivers seat door and shakes his head. "You can call me Boyd Mosche. What about you?"

"Ned Chicane." It's not his real name. but it's the go-to when he needs something to call himself, and he's been Ned longer than he hasn't been. Besides, he can already imagine what it sounds like in Boyd's godawful perfect accent. "You in the market for a Partner, Boys Mosche? Maybe a partner in the person who stole and currently has in their possession the Declaration of Independence?"

**Author's Note:**

> Come request fics at goodmorningaperture.tumblr.com!! There is no fic I will not write, no AU I will not turn into a heist fic... 
> 
> Well, okay maybe I have one more planned but that's it I swear.


End file.
